Wor[l]d Weaver - Wait Tress Adressed
“Wor[l]d weaver we would know what may transpire
when Chronos fear’s unravelled on our earth.
Will waitress Time serve course with dainties, lyre
rewiring tastebuds with sweet morsels? tire,
no second servings dish? doors closed, expire?
close restaurant, avaunt, as if birth – berth
is/was spun bill of lading, - pre-paid buyer
obliged, wait_tressed, to pun de_sire?
Will waft and weft swift smoke in final fire,
or will we wait, like mammoths, for rebirth,
within ice walls sung by no phantom choir,
lost, silent, windless, sunless too, our worth
our empires under rock of ages' mire? '
“Light years spun long before the minds of men
climbed through primaeval slime to seed the stars, -
to open up far universe again.
Dice walls or calls the stakes, gives, takes, or mars
when cycles turn Fate's wheel, when nothing bars
intelligence renascent, - beings then
may lodestars search or perch on Shangri Las.
Beaux-arts may flourish, while noteworthy pen
might music rediscover, strange sitars
send notes afloat on timelessness suspen-
ding Time itself, once more feed hours
and powers the heady appetite empowers
to choose the course it views upon life’s MEN
YOU – only you – may taste, may waste, till when
wheel turns in haste, bill paid, and fade the flowers.”
'Wor[l]d weaver one would well your lore inquire.
What can become of all our storied mirth,
our idle chatter, dreams, ambitions higher,
our generations' aims and prayers entire,
imaginations vivid, poets’ lyre? ”
Should one feed now? How choose? when whine lists’ worth
may rancid ransom prove, a thorny briar.
Should we treat Maître D to trust as Sire,
or, tricked, of course off course, t[h]read into gyre
whose tipple ripple – pointed Fate’s denyer –
may earn return, new menu’s venu, dearth
or plenty find behind mind’s blind rebirth? ”
“Should, mad, mankind continue as today
to overcrop, to overfish, disdain
the seasons’ reasons, - all that may remain
could well be drowned beneath reef’s swirling spray
as tipping points are reached. No time to pray
may soon be found as poles melt, greed for grain
encouraging pollution, won’t restrain
[...] Read more
poem by Jonathan Robin
Added by Poetry Lover
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